


trial and error

by orphan_account



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Breeding, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Experiments, Fuck Or Die, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Rape/Non-con Elements, my bad - Freeform, unusual anatomy, yeah theres a lot to unpack here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 20:56:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17128595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: big big cw





	trial and error

**Author's Note:**

> yeah so. this is an old thing from a couple months ago that i owe a friend and i feel bad about letting them wait so i polished it a bit AND im finally using my cursed content ao3.
> 
> disclaimer: imma keep it real with u chief this is unhealthy and completely different from what i usually do so reader discretion is advised, no proof reading, this belial is nice and not horny but this is basically what made him so fucked up and horny

Belial twitches when the needle of a syringe breaks the delicate skin at the bend of his arm. His feathers quiver, as he anxiously watches Lucilius administer the clear fluid, his body noticeably heating up with every additional drop that gets into his system. The Astral had asked him to run a few tests concerning the hormonal balance of Primals and how they react to outside influences– those influences being a cocktail of god knows what kinda chemicals and other things he doesn't want to know about. 

Once the syringe is completely empty, Lucilius presses a piece of cotton onto the tiny wound before pulling the needle out. Right away, Belial can tell that he grows increasingly aware of the room he's in and how bare it is, but the Astral sitting in front of him in a chair catches his attention in particular– mostly, his scent; he smells of sweet alcohol, exotic flowers, and musk. It's such a strong contrast to the usual disinfectant and rotting gore. 

“That wasn't so bad now, was it?“, Lucilius says with something chiding in his tone. 

“You're right. I apologize for inconveniencing you with my complaints prior to this.”, Belial replies as he fidgets with the front of the gown he was asked to wear. It's rather humiliating for a usually so tastefully dressed entity to wear a rag with nothing underneath. 

“Either way–”, the Astral begins while he gets up and puts the used syringe on a metal trolley that stands by the bed. “–Your partner in this experiment is being prepared right now, so we shall begin soon.”

“... Partner?”, Belial is forced to do a double take, staring at Lucilius with wide eyes, “I thought this experiment was just about the injection.”

The Astral can't keep a snort to yourself. “Without the actual practice, this would merely be a biology theory lesson. Now excuse me, I have a few preparations to make too.” And with that, he's out the door, the loud clicking of multiple strong locks indicating that Belial is now officially trapped. 

The Primal's heart beats quickly, feathers bristling. He's alert. With sharpened senses comes the painful awareness of the two way mirrors that stretch across all four walls. This room is brightly lit, leaving no shadows to hide in. It only adds to his state, together with the truly deafening silence. However, soon enough, the door is opened anew and a familiar face enters the scene–  

_ Azazel. _

He's wearing the same shitty gown as Belial (he can even see his tail swishing with hostility beneath it). His flight feathers were clipped on all four wings and there's a muzzle preventing him from hurting any of the researchers. And in addition to all that, he also has a thick collar of brown leather sitting at his neck.  _ Poor bastard.  _ Then again, his bite is quite deadly (there haven’t been casualties just yet, but a researcher lost three fingers to his maw) so Belial can see where the Astrals are coming from with all these precautions.

The door falls shut behind him, sealing the two of them in. And immediately, there's tension between them. Belial's feathers rustle when Azazel's scent hits him like a ton of bricks; it's sweet, so sweet. The information that there's a ready and available mate in the same room as him travels right down his spine and to his– wait, a mate? Where the fuck did that come from? Surely, this wasn't what Belial had pictured when the Astral mentioned research regarding hormones. 

“W-wait, you...”, Belial begins to stammer, unable to conceal his already poorly contained arousal, “... did Master Lucilius tell at least you what this is about?”

At first, Azazel says nothing, wordlessly approaches him, earning a subtle flinch; he's giant, massive, usually in a bad mood, and gets into verbal fights with Lucilius on his own volition, so Belial fears and respects him alike. However, that little bit of respect slowly warps into fear too when Azazel pins him onto the bed with his full weight. 

“Listen,”, he rasps at him, “There's no time for long explanations. He plans to get rid of us should we not cooperate.”

“I don't even know what he–” The prior statement on it's own makes him panic internally, but it's immediately buried beneath the extra amount of hormones he was given. 

“He wants us to fuck.”, Azazel cuts him off, blunt and crude as he can be, yet he manages to keep his voice down. “That sick piece of shit is looking into breeding habits.” There's obvious disdain in his words, coupled with a deep snarl that bares sharp fangs. 

A deep red hue immediately finds its way into Belial's expression, lips parted in shock. He's utterly scandalized. And yet, yet the reality of this scenario makes his clit throb with unknown urgency. “Isn't– you– we can't–”, he stammers in response, since it's the one thing he can do right now,  _ “This is forbidden.” _

“I doubt he cares; he can do as he pleases”, Azazel grunts, his body straightening so he can pull his gown over his head and discard it onto the floor. This leaves him completely exposed. “I want this to be over as soon as possible too, believe me.”

An image as obscene as this causes Belial's entire face to bloom in red. Pale, perfect, and well built; Azazel truly is a masterpiece of biological engineering. It may be that awful injection messing with his head, but his body is already giving signals that he's found him– the perfect mate. The crushing weight on him sends impulses into all the right places. When the angel shifts atop of him, Belial finds himself bucking his hips upward, desperate for every little bit of friction he can get. 

His newfound lust doesn't go unnoticed. But instead of commenting or even just a disgusted look, Azazel instead moves to getting rid of Belial's gown quickly, which joins his own on the ground. Completely involuntary, the primarch spreads his legs wide, hands squeezing the insides of his plump thighs all needy– may the hormone cocktail be damned. This is fucked up, he thinks, but that thought is soon replaced by another: it's only natural. The Astrals are robbing them of their right to breed like the Primals they are. Perhaps his urges have been repressed by the suppressants they’re given for too long. 

The sight itself makes Azazel drool in anticipation, his purple tongue flicking out to wet his dried lips. A deep rumble resonates feel within his chest; he's purring at him– and Belial finds himself returning the favor. 

Without hesitation, the angel straddles him, their sheaths pressed flush together. As much as he enjoys this development, suddenly his sanity returns to him, “What are you d–” 

A slow stroke of Azazel's hips forces him to stop mid-sentence, shuddering at the sensation. 

_ “Quiet.”, _ comes the coarse grunt in response, eyes fluttering shut in bliss as he sets a gentle pace. 

Soon enough, Belial finds himself dazed and wide-eyed as if in shock, his mouth agape as he pants quietly. He's never experienced stimuli like this before and coupled with the injection, everything feels intense. More than it should. It's almost painful, and he can't tell if he's hurting to be bred like a prized bitch or if he rejects the entire situation. Already Belial feels gross deep down, committing a…  _ felony _ like this. But for now, he can't possibly bring himself to care. His gaze focuses on their sheaths pressed together– and he moans. He's never indulged in an act of this kind, and as much as it goes against the virtues he was taught by the Astrals, deep down he enjoys it. They're both so wet that every little move causes a wide array of gross and sloppy sounds, but that makes it better than already. His heightened awareness decided to focus on Azazel's tantalizing scent, which only adds another edge to this fest of complete depravity. Thanks to the weight on him, Belial can feel his cock slowly unsheath, about a third already out and twitching eagerly. 

Belial wants to speak, give praise or even say only Azazel's name, but all he can manage is a mewl.  _ He never even knew he could make a noise like that.  _

In reply, he gets another loud purr and rustling feathers– and Azazel's thick cock resting against his own, both glistening and dripping with slick. Clearly, Azazel has no intention of waiting for long and grabs hold of his dick, guiding the tip to the primarch’s cunt. Anticipation causes him to shiver, all six of his wings fluttering against the bed and sending a few loose downs flying. 

However, something catches his attention. The all too familiar sound of scribbling on parchment.

Immediately, Belial’s gaze flicks over to the side of the bed, falling upon Lucilius, who had reclaimed his seat beside this scene.  _ What the fuck. _ He didn’t even hear him come back in. The Astral is taking notes, occasionally looking up from them to see how his experiment is doing. 

“B-be careful, please.”, Belial whispers at Azazel all hushed, now extremely embarrassed about these...  _ circumstances. _ Lucilius really is watching them do this. The big mirrors made him suspect that he’d watch from the outside to at least give them some privacy, but apparently Lucilius needs a seat in the front row. 

Azazel only hums in response. 

Belial  _ really _ hopes he acknowledged his request and takes it into consideration. Judging by his size, he might as well split him in half if he isn’t gentle. There’s an attempt to make himself comfortable on the awfully hard mattress now that his body is seemingly getting used to the hormone cocktail he was injected, but he’s interrupted in doing so.

“Ah, I’d say you could use a second dosis.”, Lucilius states while he gets up, grabbing a second full syringe from the metal trolley. He doesn’t even wait for a complaint. 

Before Belial can even react accordingly, the needle pricks the side of his exposed neck. He wants to struggle, to resist, but he finds himself unable to. The skin where the needle struck him begins to tingle and heat up, and his limbs no longer do as he says. His vision blurs subtly, but sharpens anew once there’s something prodding at his cunt, slowly pushing inside. 

Driven by instincts since common sense left him, Belial’s teeth are bared and a low snarl breaks from his throat. But as soon as he can feel Azazel’s cock enter him, his growling and huffing becomes blissful purring. He had expected it to hurt like all hell, but it’s rather fulfilling (quite literally). His lips part and Belial breaks into frantic panting when the angel pushes his legs back and close to his chest. Drool drips through the wire of Azazel’s muzzle and onto the other’s stomach. Deep down, the primarch already braces for what might come, but the worst case never ensues.

When Azazel finally pushes inside of him further, it’s gentle and slow, drawing a strangled moan from his throat. The angel’s thighs rest upon his own, keeping them spread with his full weight. And then, he begins to move, his pace slow at first but gradually building speed. Belial’s eyes widen anew as he attempts to comprehend what exactly is happening to him. It’s foreign and he has yet to decide if that’s good or bad, but the excess hormones make it impossible to think about anything beyond Azazel’s cock. The angel isn’t looking him in the eye, his gaze fixated on the primarch’s stomach and sometimes his chest. He doesn’t like this, but his boiling blood (and the likely real threat from Lucilius) lets him live out his urges… or forces him to act out on them, rather.

Belial’s breathing grows ragged and he whines loudly, forced to stare at the ceiling because his muscles were robbed of every available ounce of strength.  _ Something’s happening to him. _ He can feel his cunt convulse frantically around Azazel, causing his face to eventually twist in (guilty) pleasure, lips bitten so hard he may draw blood. His fingers barely manage to curl into the bedding, desperately in need of something to hold onto, afraid of Azazel undoing him completely. A strangled cry fights itself out of his dry throat and violent shudders befall him. Every fiber of his being is tensed as warmth floods his system, rewarding him with a sensation like no other. Without that he wills it, Belial's lips curl into a soft and smile, directed at the angel on top of him. His arms seem to have developed a mind of their own when they stretch up, reaching for Azazel's face and attempting to caress the sides of his face, but only meeting cold metal. But he doesn't care about that. 

Perhaps there's a reason why the Astrals usually forbid the act of breeding; the longer Azazel takes, the more Belial can feel himself grow addicted to being filled like this, being at someone else's mercy. He understands why they wouldn't want their obedient angels to be distracted by such obscenities. 

Soon enough, the other leans down far enough for Belial to rest his arms on his shoulders, drawing him in close. His palms run over the vast plane of his back as his pace grows irregular, sloppy. Loud panting is right next to Belial's ear, and in return he offers sweet and encouraging nothings, still driven by the injections. Something pulsing presses against his cunt as Azazel's pace eventually slows and is reduced to deep, hard rutting, knocking the air out of Belial every time their hips meet. His instincts tell him to carefully move against the angel, his insides tensing and relaxing near rhythmically around his cock. Belial doesn't understand any of this, but it feels good.

Meanwhile, Lucilius seems to have perked up. Had either of paid more attention to him, they'd have noticed his extremely obvious arousal. Perhaps it's for the best that they're busy with each other. 

Eventually, Belial's chest heaves with loud and shallow exhales, his lips parted and spit running down the corners of his mouth. That pulsing something that was only prodding at him mere moments ago is now slowly being eased into him. It's thick– so thick that there's a harsh sting when he reaches the biggest part of it. Belial actually yowls like a startled beast at the pain, now attempting to get away from Azazel. However, he doesn't get far. 

Before he can even get to the headboard of the bed, there's a delicate hand at his throat, pressing him down into the mattress with immense strength and forcing him to stay put. Sometimes he forgets how strong Lucilius really is. Belial whimpers loudly when Azazel seemingly experiences a change of heart and goes back to thrusting, but this time faster and harder than earlier. While Lucilius holds Belial down with one hand, his other has taken a hold of Azazel's collar, pulling him forward as to encourage his rough and desperate pounding and simultaneously keep him in place should he try to back away. 

The primarch begins to writhe and arch beneath Azazel when he picks up the pace another time, obscenely loud squelching drowning out most of their moans. Belial is definitely the louder one of the two, strangled cries tearing themselves from his throat, which soon grow high-pitched when he's stretched further anew. His body struggles to accommodate Azazel's knot, even with a considerably small size difference between them. But thank god, the other’s slowing down again though, returning to rutting into him slowly. Right next to his ear, breaths hitch in Azazel's throat as he pushes forward again, the thick bulb of his cock pressing itself inside of him with some necessary force. 

It doesn't hurt per se, but Belial can't keep himself from hissing loudly at Azazel anyway, sharp fangs bared and nostrils flaring. When their hips are eventually pressed flush together, more hisses come from him, closely followed by whimpers. The angel's cock is already massive to begin with, but Belial can now feel him swell even more, to the point where even his pathetic whines catch within his throat, leaving him with his mouth wide agape but nothing coming out. 

Lucilius is still holding onto Azazel's collar, but finally loosens his grip on Belial's throat. From what the primarch can gather, the Astral seems extremely pleased with himself while he eyes him as he writhes beneath his massive lab partner. He can't help all the moving around; every stretch of skin on him tingles wonderfully and the friction of the sheets against his body only seems to intensify the sensation.

The Astral wants to reach over, brush sweat clad hair out of Belial's face, but before he can do so, Azazel growls at him, teeth bared, _ “Hands off.”  _ All four of his wings bristle and so does his hair, his tail whipping from side to side aggressively. His shoulders raise and tense as he maintains direct eye contact with the Astral, whom he definitely sees as a threat and now possibly as rival, too. 

“Ah–”, Lucilius seems quite taken aback, but his usually demeanor soon settles back onto his features, “–I didn't expect you to bond with him.” He already seems to be familiar with whatever he means with bonding, likely having studied it with Azazel or other angels. “This simplifies things.”

“Wh– what do you… mean…”, Belial eventually regains his ability to form coherent sentences and begins to slur. His mind is still hazy, but at least the inklings of what just might be coherent thoughts returned to him. 

“You'll be repeating this process for the next week or two.”, Lucilius says almost unceremoniously without looking at them as he checks his notes and proceeds to add details, “The fact that he seems to view you as a mate grants you his undivided attention, which is… relevant to my interests.”

Azazel's lips press together into a tight line. Belial's wings quiver and his brows furrow. Neither of them like that pause nor the statement he just made.  _ Two weeks of  _ **_this._ **

However, there's no time for unpleasant thoughts to really settle in when there's something incredibly hot pouring inside of him, filling up every little available inch. At once, Azazel's teeth find his bottom lip and his eyes squeeze shut tightly as his hips shake, his entire body tensing. As hard as he tries, in the end he can’t keep a loud moan to himself, causing Lucilius to shudder in his spot. At this point, the two of them do their best to just ignore him– even Belial, high as he is, can’t help but feel uneasy with him around. 

A soft sigh leaves Azazel when he pulls out of the primarch with an obscenely loud squelch, their cocks resting against one another afterwards. An involuntary whine leaves Belial at how empty he feels now and he writhes against the other in an attempt to coax him into fucking him again. He can tell that he’s aching horribly, but most of the pain is drowned out by every other wonderful little thing he’s feeling. In spite of the lack of much sought after pleasure, Belial feels strangely satisfied. Almost whole. There’s warmth budding at his core and it flutters within his chest when he looks at Azazel, who avoids eye contact with him like the plague. The primarch is so dazed that he doesn’t even realize that they’re not doing this for fun or pleasure, that they’re being forced. 

Again, all that finds space in his clouded mind are thoughts that he wants Azazel to take him till his limbs give out. Or at least that’s what it feels like.

But then, words form on his tongue by themselves and Belial doesn’t know better than letting them out, **_“I love you.”_**

Lucilius snorts, eyebrows raised in both surprise and amusement. “See what you’re doing to him, Azazel.”, he says, “I always thought Belial was a rather bland attempt at an individual, solely made for _ one _ purpose, but you’re giving him more than that.” His spindly hands clasp together at his front. “He seems so… mortal like this, wouldn’t you say so?” 

While this is going on, Belial is mostly unaware of anything said and done, still reveling in bliss and glancing up with a lovelorn look, possibly awaiting a reply. He doesn’t understand what his words could mean, especially to the Astral. And to be quite frank, he doesn’t care. 

The look on Azazel’s face says more than words ever could. Saying he looks horrified would not carry enough weight to really describe it. For a moment, he can’t speak, his gaze flicking back and forth between Belial and Lucilius helplessly. “Don’t get rid of him. He’s not in his right mind.”

“This is likely a side-effect from the agent I injected.”, he seemingly makes an attempt to reassure (except it doesn’t help at all), “He’s never been off his suppressants, so he’s– a bit overwhelmed. It’s expected for him to act like this, as atypical as it may seem.” 

There’s a short pause as Lucilius gives a moment of careful consideration. “–Why don’t you let him rest for now?” 

No response from Azazel.

Another pause from the Astral, and a hand is brought up to the clasp of the angel’s muzzle at the back of his head, while its counterpart claws into the wire on the front. “I have a favor to ask of you, Azazel.”

Belial is only listening with half an ear, but he can definitely sense the tension that is slowly but surely building. But he can’t focus on that now. The Primal can feel himself become heavy, his body sinking into the mattress as if weighed down by an invisible force. He can hear Azazel speak to Lucilius, but everything is indiscernible to him, slurred. Before he can grasp further thoughts, he’s already encased by complete darkness.

It’s strangely comforting;  _ definitely better than being awake. _

  
  


“Ah– look, Azazel. He’s unconscious.”, Lucilius hums softly as he gingerly takes off Azazel’s muzzle, “An interesting reaction.”

There’s something mocking in his demeanor, and the conscious Primal immediately takes up on that. It makes anger and disgust alike seethe at the pit of his stomach. He feels disgusting after this. Despite having only the Astrals as guidance for a moral compass, Azazel might just throw up from this. This is wrong. And there’s nothing he can do about it. Not like this, anyway. It’s hard to look at what he’s made of Belial, what Lucilius made him do, but it’s best not to voice his disgust, lest the Astral decides that he is unfit for further experiments.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!!


End file.
